Passing
by Ryuki Rose
Summary: A request is made of Korra on her deathbed, after a night of reminiscing. One-shot.


**Written for Amorra Springtime Week: Rebirth, April 7th through April 13th of 2013. Come celebrate with us!  
**

The night was calm, and cold, the sky so dark that even stars seemed suffocated from existence, and – above all – it was quiet. The turtle-seals refrained from boisterous barking, the arctic hounds remained quiet in their hunts and didn't pay homage to Yue, and the wind remained mute.

The world knew – well the parts that paid attention - just as Korra knew. The Avatar cycle was about to move on.

At a little over a hundred, the old woman felt content with the life she lived. Though Kyoshi lived over two centuries, that Earth Avatar was always the most extreme in almost every case.

Korra sighed and leaned back in her chair. A light shudder coursed through her body as a chill settled into her bones. She already had six blankets over her lap and the effort to go dig more out of the closet seemed too much. Instead, she tried to settle further into her chair, trying not to concentrate on the past or the near future.

It was futile. Her mind dragged her to Republic City, where humidity and warmth laid over the buildings. She could feel the warm waters of Yue Bay and smell the sweet and tart lychee berries on Airbender Island.

And like a spinning top, she swung toward thinking of the airbenders. Of Tenzin, in his frailty on his deathbed and how Pema, soon after he passed, began wasting away from heartache. Oh, how her kids tried to help, tried to ease the pain while Korra drifted in and out of the City. For months, they came over with the grand-kids and cooked fattening foods for their dwindling mother, but they still worried and fretted over her health. There were many ways to join Tenzin in the Spirit World and Korra had no doubt that Pema contemplated them, especially one evening as she attempted to hide a small vial of

Until Lin came to live with her. At the bequest of Jinora, Lin Beifong moved to Airbender Island. Pema barely had the energy to deny her, nor would she have accomplished such a feat. Though nearly twenty years Pema's senior, Lin could still hold her own and still had a spine made of steel. The withering glares and icy cold-shoulders did nothing to deter the metalbender.

A year after Tenzin's passing, Lin offered to go with Pema to his grave. Together, the old women walked, quiet and dignified, and – after a long silence filled with memories – they left.

After that, Pema began to eat again and garden and _smile_. The two old women were always seen on the veranda of the temple, sipping tea and playing Pai Sho in the late, warm summer evenings.

And, like Tenzin, they too passed. First Lin and, soon after from another bout of heartache, Pema.

Korra could still smell the incense from their funerals, a mixture of lilac and panda lily and smoke. It made her heart twist.

She suddenly shook her head and stood, her bones groaning with the sudden movement. No time to dwell. The Avatar shuffled to the kitchen. A pot of tea would warm her old, cracking bones.

After filling the teapot and placing it on the stove, Korra threw a few meager bits of wood into the burner and gave it a quick punch of fire from her knuckles. The flames licked eagerly at their treat and the illumination warmed Korra's flesh.

Fire. Oh yes, fire. Those moments, from her early adulthood, when she suffered from obsessive infatuation for Mako. The memories tickled at her stomach, reminding her of every touch and every flutter of her heart whenever his callused fingers pressed against her skin. Korra clenched her eyes shut and shivered, standing as quickly as her bones would allow her. The ring of the door slamming against the stove did little to disrupt the new path her treacherous thoughts took.

All those decades ago and, still, Korra could feel the schoolgirl crush licking at her innards. The butterfly-moth tickles that Mako inexplicably gave her. The Avatar sighed and shuffled to a pantry, to pull out her favored tea leaves while her mind relived the memories.

The many nights alone, keeping warm with soft moans and desperate gyrations. The days they spent together, smiling and ribbing and fighting and snarling. The many moments flitted in and out of her mind, like mosquito-humming birds, fading in and out as quickly as stars blinking in and out of the darkness. Absently, Korra touched the side of her neck, which still carried a scar from her last battle beside Mako.

As an investigative officer, the firebender had insisted on helping her catch Dao Lo, a man wreaking havoc on Fire Nation islands. He terrified and destroyed and maimed and crushed so many. The old Avatar shuddered as a stream of mangled bodies hovered in her vision, tears bit at her eyes as Mako entered that river.

Mako, always determined to be in control, to take care of everyone, to be the hero and man. He never learned to fight – truly fight - beside another and that, Korra had realized years after his death, was his downfall. The young man was independent and fighting beside the Korra, in actual combat, against the earthbending terrorist had been a handicap. They stumbled over their own feet and argued and maneuvered to dodge each others attacks on a field that had no bounds while Dao Lo danced about them and shifted the ground from under them.

One particular shift caused Mako to lose his footing and a blast of fire struck Korra, as she struggled to regain her own balance, just as the man disappeared into a gaping crevice. Stunned, with blood and pain streaming from her neck, Korra tried to move, tried to run to her friend's help. Dao Lo was quicker. He easily caught the Avatar in rock shackles and forced her into a sitting position. There, she was forced to watch and hear as Dao Lo crushed Mako to a slow, agonizing death.

Korra clenched her eyes shut as they overflowed with tears, her own shame boiling like the water in the teapot. Why the Avatar State hadn't awakened immediately, she didn't know; why the Spirits allowed her friend, her first love, to die such a way, she couldn't fathom.

Whatever the reason, the State did eventually initiate and Dao Lo learned the wrath of an Avatar. Her price had already been paid, though.

The keen of the teapot thankfully roused Korra and snatched the boiled water from the stove. Filling her prepared teacup, the old woman focused on her task, trying to keep her thoughts from continuing their treachery.

Her hands warmed on her cup as she shuffled back to her chair. After piling the blankets back atop her lap, Korra settled into the cushions and sipped at the hot drink. The warmth spread over her bones, through her veins, a momentary respite from nostalgia.

It didn't last long. Her mind rallied, reminding her how many years of depression and sadness pursued her after Mako's death. Bolin, adaptable and capable, mourned his brother for years, but still found some way to smile. His eyes always shone, always bright, always grinning. His jokes never lost their slight cringe-worthiness, but the boy was always so much more mature than anyone gave him credit for. Korra saw that now, decades later, and wished she'd been more aware of it. Vaguely, she wondered how her old friend was doing and a sudden image of her Bolin, bald and grinning and covered in grandchildren trying to wrestle him to the ground, danced over her mind.

Yes, he and Aya had a big family and their children had had families. From an orphan to a man with five children and fifteen – going on sixteen – grandchildren. And, like all Earthbenders, he was strong and healthy in his greying years. Pabu had done similar, with much larger litters that went to loving friends of the family.

Korra chuckled quietly to herself.

Even Asami adopted a few of the fire ferrets, especially once her children were able to take care of them. Hiroshi and Kairi Sato. Korra's lips twisted into a smile. Like with everything else, Asami excelled at parenting. Though, left alone to raise the twins, the Sato businesswoman had almost met her limit. There were many nights, while Korra stayed over at the Sato mansion, that the pregnant woman would sob and shake and tremble in her arms. She had no family, extended or otherwise, to turn to for help.

"I don't know what I'll do!" Asami wailed, clutching to Korra's shirt as the Avatar rubbed the woman's back in comfort. Partially, the hormones definitely upset her, but in that moment, Korra had felt the loneliness in Asami's heart. She never felt part of the 'gang', she was always a little off-center from Korra and Mako and Bolin, and her parents were both gone. Money helped ease physical and instantaneous problems, but it did little for mental or emotional.

"Asami," Old Korra felt her lips move to the memory, "You're a beautiful, strong, smart woman. You'll know what to do and you will be amazing at it."

The teary-eyed gaze and the smile that crossed Asami's lips, the hope as the words lifted a weight on her heart. That look of gratitude stayed with Korra for all her years. That solitary second, was one of a handful, that made Korra feel successful as an Avatar and...as a friend.

Korra still didn't know how Asami managed. She juggled motherhood and business and politics splendidly. Between mergers and inventions and changing diapers and nipping tantrums in the bud, Asami was perfection. A slither of envy teased at Korra's guts; it was always there, especially with thoughts of Asami. Korra learned to accept it.

Asami was many things that Korra, even in her old age, felt she lacked.

Sighing, the old woman shook her head. No point in wasting her last minutes on envy. Asami was her friend and she was insanely happy for the successful woman and for her brilliant children.

Korra glanced at the few miniature prototypes on her mantle, sent by the Satos, and felt her heart warm. Y9es, they did the world well with their inventions and charity. Like their mother, Hiroshi and Kairi were level-headed and bogglingly perfect.

And they deserved every ounce of it.

Then there were her children. Kitika, a firebending wall-flower, with a penchant for phrasing herself well; Dei, her non-bending son with his strong sense of right and wrong and enough training to brain all his siblings; and the twins, Noa and Arlock, both of whom were a surprise and both of whom were waterbenders. Noa, strong and quiet and who had a hard time asking for help and Arlock, so social and graceful it made even Korra jealous.

The children made her, and her husband, so proud.

A little sliver of guilt played over Korra's heart. The children lived in far reaches of the world, she had forced Howl to go visit them. He had such an uncanny ability to sense when something was wrong with her, sometimes even before the Avatar knew it herself. Then again, Korra wouldn't have doubted he knew her end was near and, grudgingly, left so she could pass with dignity.

The old woman swallowed, a lone tear trailing down her cheek.

Vaguely, she wished she wasn't so alone now. On the verge of death, with the past taunting her and the prospects of the future brushing her thoughts – Arlock had a child on the way and Kitika's youngest was learning to bend – Korra felt rather pitiful.

Trying to shake the thoughts away, the old woman took another sip of her tea, forcing her thoughts to remain silent. Just for a moment.

**xxx**

The echo of a book slamming against the floor roused Korra from her unintended nap. The old woman jolted and her eyes swung around her small home, seeing nothing but shadows in the flickering of candelight. Her blue eyes fell on the book that had taken a jump from its shelf. Heaving a rather heavy sigh, Korra pursed her lips.

Struggling out of the chair, she started for where the book had landed. As she neared, though, Korra realized something was wrong and it only struck her as she reached for the tome.

Her hand, her hand. It was blue and transparent!

Korra wheeled on her heel, moving much faster than she had in recent decades. The cry almost escaped her throat as she stared at herself, slumped in her chair and teacup on the floor, broken. Her hand hovered over her mouth and she neared her body.

How long had she-?

"It doesn't matter."

That voice. She wheeled around again, her stomach dripping to her knees. Memories careened into her head as she came face-to-chest with _him_. She looked up, breathless and felt a small twinge of fear twist at the sight of the mask.

"Amon?" She breathed, confused.

"It is customary, I am told, for the most influential enemy to meet the Avatar in death." He intoned, bored, his arms folded behind his back while he stood tall. His gaze was set off in the distance, as if addressing a room full of people. Finally, Amon landed his gaze upon Korra, "Curious, though."

"What?"

"Though I was your enemy, one of your children bares homage to my birth-name."

"And to Tarrlok, yes." Korra held her head high, hands on her hips. She wasn't the sprig of a teenager Amon dealt with in the past. She had memories and experiences. She knew what would fly and what wouldn't. Amon tilted his head, curious to her answer. Korra chuckled and smiled, "The all-knowing Amon cannot figure it out?"

He snorted, annoyed, "I do not pretend to understand your attempts at logic, Avatar."

Korra, despite herself, felt a smile. There was a happiness in her chest, warming her bones and making her feel so giddy. Inexplicable, but there. Her gaze softened on the spirit, though, and she softly stated, "Your brother and yourself taught me so much. Like everything, it took a few decades for it to sink in, though."

She moved suddenly, grasping his hand and holding it in her own blue glow. Pressing it to her chest, Korra was a little surprised to feel actual heat from his palm. It didn't matter. She continued, closing her eyes, "Though your methods were questionable, your brother and yourself had reasons for your actions. Not entirely condonable, but sympathetic and human. Our actions reach so far into the future, whether we know it or not," Korra sighed and opened her eyes, staring into a now unmasked Amo—Noatak's face. She felt the tears brimming in her eyes, years of regret and guilt, "I never had the chance and it will be useless now, but I forgive you and...I hope my sons can be great men, just as you and your brother were."

His fingers twitched against Korra's chest, uncertain and awkward. Korra's smile grew. She had wanted, so badly, to say those words to Tarrlok and Noatak, even as the years passed and it became apparent they would never rear their heads again. The words had ached in Korra's blood for so long. To tell him, at the very least, was a relief.

Noatak abruptly glanced up, as if something had shifted. Grunting and removing his hand from Korra's hold, the man straightened and returned to folding his arms behind his back. His mask reappeared, like white vapors taking on a physical form, "Regardless, your time to be reintroduced to the world is here."

He turned, motioning to an arch that slowly faded into being. Gold light streamed from it and a soft mist crept from its opening. The faint sounds of feminine screaming and a calm voice telling – presumably – the screaming woman to push wafted in.

Korra glanced curiously at Noatak, a little disappointed, "So soon?"

She had wanted to speak to him, to ask him so many things and to, maybe, understand why she felt such a connection to the man. It had been a mystery that never once faltered throughout her life.

"Yes."

The previous Avatar fought her pout and set her jaw. The child would be born and it would be born the Avatar and, so, she had to be part of his or her spirit. It was, as most Avatar duties, a high expectation.

Just as she began to advance on the arch, however, Amon caught her arm. Their eyes met and a surge of understanding, of chest-tightening fear and breathless uncertainty and shivers pounded between them. Nothing tangible transpired, no words and no certainty to what their connection was, but...he affirmed, in some way, there was.

"Tonight, I will be reborn," Amon stated, his eyes darting over her face, "I had much atonement to serve, so my reincarnation was stalled. Regardless, I have a request."

He waited, wanting her permission. Korra nodded, urging him to continue.

"Find me, wherever I am reborn," He murmured, almost as if the words didn't want to come, "Find me before I lose myself, again."

The previous Avatar stared at him, so much weighing on his request. She glanced to the arch, then looked back into the mask that once evoked so much fear in her. Now, the desperate gaze of a man found her, rather than the eyes of a monster.

Korra simply nodded, finding a raspy voice to answer Noatak, "I promise, Noatak. I will find you next time."

A shift in the air, a relaxation in his hold, made Korra feel as if he had been reassured. She grinned at him, though she couldn't see his expression, and his hand fell from her arm. Turning back to the arch, Korra felt a new feeling in her chest, a warmth and excitement.

There would be another life to live, more battles to wage and, maybe, answers given to dusty questions.

_...okay, probably not_, Korra admitted to herself as she stepped through the arch, _But we will have another chance to find out what we mean to one another._


End file.
